Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty): Part I
by Sinical-Sarchasm
Summary: Hermione is dying, and her last wish to Helen, her granddaughter, is that she (Helen) will read Briar Rose and understand something. But what is it? This is the beginning of my story of Helen's quest for the story of Hermione's childhood. Read and Review!
1. Default Chapter Title

A.N.: In case anyone's wondering, this is nothing like the story "A Hogwarts Cinderella" (though I wouldn't mind getting an amount of reviews similar to the amount that story got). I got the idea for this while rereading Jane Yolen's "Briar Rose," for the millionth time (a must-read). This story starts out very strangely, but it will get more interesting as the story goes on. This is the first part of my first series fic, so I would appreciate it enormously if you would review. Please do. I will be more likely to continue if people review. If people don't review, or give me terrible reviews, I will discontinue this at once. 

Disclaimer: Briar Rose (the story and the person), at least in the words I tell it in, belongs to the Grimm Brothers, I think, and whoever published the stories. The story itself is a German folk tale, so it doesn't belong to anyone. The book "Briar Rose, " by Jane Yolen, belongs to Yolen and her publisher. Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Ron Weasley, Dumbledore, and Voldemort belong to J.K. Rowling. Helen Granger, Miranda Bryce, and Robert Johnson all belong to me. 

Helen Granger-Johnson sat in one of the nursing home's plush armchairs as she watched her grandmother's even breathing. Tears filled her eyes as she realized how important this moment was. Each time she saw Hermione taking another breath, the terrible realization that this might be her grandmother's last breath clouded her mind. The doctors had at first tried to shield it from her, but Helen had known long before they had told her: Hermione Granger was dying. 

As Helen held her grandmother's soft, wrinkled hand in hers, she heard her grandmother murmur frequently in her sleep words like, "Hogwarts, Ron, Dumbledore, Voldemort, and most frequently, Harry." Whenever she said that name, she writhed in her bed, as if in great pain and sorrow. These were all empty words to Helen, but she still treated them each with a special importance, because she knew in her heart that they might be the last words that would come from her grandmother's mouth. 

Hermione opened her eyes, and stared at Helen with a look that Helen had never seen in Hermione before. "Helen, " her grandmother told her, and each word weighed heavily, "I know inside my heart, in a way that no one, not even the doctors, can know, that these are the last words I am going to say to you." 

Helen's eyes clouded with tears, for though she had known her grandmother was dying, and that she may die the next moment, hearing her grandmother tell her so was far more painful. "Do not cry, my Helena," Hermione told her granddaughter, using Helen's pet name, "for to the well organized mind, death is but the next adventure." Hermione said this as though she had heard it said before, but from whom, Helen could not fathom. 

"My Helena, you have been everything and more than I could ever expect of you, and I love you dearly. I have but one dying wish for you." 

"What is it, Grandmother? " Helen asked, her hand shaking but her voice remaining steady in light of the importance of the moment. 

"Hermione, you must read, one more time, from our copy, " she put special stress on the last two words, "the story of Briar Rose." 

Helen began to ask why, but stopped at once, for she knew that Hermione placed an importance that she refused to explain on the story of Briar Rose, when told in her version. Helen was sure that it told a story that Hermione refused to tell: the story of Hermione's childhood. "I will, Grandma," Helen said. 

"Thank you, my dear, " Hermione said, "I hope it will help you understand the things I have never been able to tell you." Those were the last words to leave her mouth. 

***

Helen wept silently as she heard someone finishing the eulogy, "and she was a loving and beautiful person." Helen had known that her grandmother would die soon, yet it had come as a shock, the realization that her loved grandmother was gone forever. She knew it in her mind, but her heart refused to admit that she would never again see Hermione. 

She blankly heard words washing over her...a pity...loving...warm. "Usual funeral words, " Helen thought, half bitter, half sad, "Such usual words for such an unusual person." 

She sighed. Her husband, Martin Johnson, put his arm around her. "I'm so sorry, honey, " he said, "Hermione was a beautiful person..." 

Called back to earth by her husband's words, Helen said abruptly, "Of course she was. Let's go back home, I need to read Briar Rose..." 

Martin seemed taken aback by the words. "But...Helen...I know that this is hard for you, but...really...wouldn't be...proper...can't leave in the middle...I know she loved that story...but...Helen, this...really isn't the...time for...fairy tales..." He seemed to be having difficulty finding the words to express himself. 

Helen turned suddenly harsh. "Martin, her last words to me, her last wish, was that I would read that story and understand something. Now, if you don't want me to do that for her, then, fine, that's your problem! But I am not going to let petty formalities bar my way!" 

Helen left in a storm of emotions, leaving her husband stunned and the crowd whispering. 

***

Helen turned the fragile pages of the old book, which had been turned countless times before, to the story of Briar Rose. She began to read: 

_A long time ago their lived a king and a queen, who said every day, "If only we had a child!" But for a long time, they had none. _

It happened once as the Queen was bathing that a frog crept out of the water onto the land and said to her, "Your wish shall be fulfilled. Before a year has passed, you shall bring a daughter into the world." 

The frog's words came true. The Queen had a little girl who was so beautiful that the King could not contain himself for joy, and he prepared a great feast. He invited his relatives, friends, and acquaintances, and also the fairies, in order that they might be favorably and kindly disposed towards the child. There were thirteen of them in the kingdom, but as the King had only twelve golden plates for them to eat from, one of the fairies had to stay at home. 

The feast was held with all splendor, and when it came to an end the fairies all presented the child with a magic gift. One gave her virtue, another beauty, a third riches, and so on, with everything in the world that she could wish for. 

When eleven of the fairies had said their say, the thirteenth suddenly appeared. She wanted to revenge herself for not being invited. 

Without greeting anyone or even glancing at the company, she called out in a loud voice, "The Princess shall prick herself with a distaff in her fifteenth year and shall fall down dead." And without another word she turned and left the hall. 

Everyone was terror-stricken, but the twelfth fairy, whose wish was still unspoken, stepped forward. She could not cancel the curse but could only soften it, so she said, "It shall not be death, but a deep sleep lasting a hundred years, into which your daughter shall fall." 

The King was so anxious to guard his dear child from the misfortune that he sent out a command that all the distaffs in the whole kingdom should be burned. 

As time went on, all the promises of the fairies came true. The Princess grew up so beautiful, modest, kind, and clever that everyone who saw her could not but love her. Now it happened that on the very day when she was fifteen years old, the King and Queen were away from home and the Princess was left quite alone in the castle. She wandered about over the whole place, looking at rooms and halls as she pleased, and at last she came to an old tower. She ascended a narrow winding staircase and reached a little door. A rusty key was sticking in the lock, and when she turned it the door flew open. In a little room sat an old woman with a spindle, spinning her flax busily. 

"Good day, Granny," said the Princess, "What are you doing?" 

"I am spinning," said the old woman, and nodded her head. 

"What is the thing that whirls around so merrily?" asked the Princess. And she took the spindle and tried to spin too. But she had scarcely touched it before the curse was fulfilled, and she pricked her finger with the spindle. The instant she felt the prick she fell upon the bed which was standing near, and lay still in a deep sleep which spread over the whole castle. 

The King and Queen, who had just come home and had stepped into the hall, went to sleep, and all their courtiers with them. The horses went to sleep in the stable, the dogs in the yard, the doves on the roof, the flies on the wall. Yes, even the fire flickering on the hearth grew still and went to sleep, and the roast meat stopped crackling. The cook, who was pulling the scullion's hair because he had made some mistake, let him go and went to sleep. The wind dropped, and on the trees in front of the castle not a leaf stirred. 

But round the castle a hedge of briar roses began to grow up. Every year it grew higher, till at last it surrounded the whole castle so that nothing could be seen of it, not even the flags on the roof. 

But there was a legend in the land about the lovely sleeping Briar Rose, as the King's daughter was called. And from time to time princes came and tried to force a way through the hedge into the castle. They found it impossible; for the thorns, as though they had hands, held them fast, and the princes remained caught in them without being able to free themselves. And so they died a miserable death. 

After many, many years a prince came again to the country and heard an old man tell of the castle which stood behind the briar hedge, in which a most beautiful maiden called Briar Rose had been asleep for the last hundred years, and with her the King, the Queen, and all their courtiers. He knew also from his grandfather that many princes had already come and sought to pierce the briar hedge, and had remained caught in it and died a sad death. 

Then the young Prince said, "I am not afraid. I am determined to go and look upon the lovely Briar Rose. 

The good man did all in his power to dissuade him, but the prince would not listen to my words. 

Now, however, the hundred years were just ended, and the day had come when Briar Rose was to wake up again. When the Prince approached the briar hedge it was in blossom, and was covered with beautiful large flowers which made way for him of their own accord and let him pass unharmed, and then closed up again into a hedge behind him. 

In the courtyard he saw the horses and brindled hounds lying asleep. On the roof sat the doves with their heads under their wings. And when he went into the house, the flies were asleep on the walls. And near the throne lay the King and Queen. In the kitchen was the cook, with his hand raised as though about to strike the scullion, and the maid sat with the black fowl in her lap, which she had been about to pluck. 

He went on farther, and all was so still that he could hear his own breathing. At last he reached the tower and opened the door into the little room where Briar Rose was asleep. There she lay, looking so beautiful that he could not take his eyes off her. He bent down and gave her a kiss. 

As he touched her, Briar Rose opened her eyes and looked lovingly at him. Then they went down together, and the King woke up, and the Queen, and all the courtiers, and looked at each other with astonished eyes. The horses in the stable stood up and shook themselves, the hounds leaped about and wagged their tails, the doves on the roof lifted their heads from under their wings, looked around, and flew into the fields. The flies on the walls began to crawl again, the fire in the kitchen roused itself and blazed up and cooked the food. The meat began to crackle, and the cook boxed the scullion's ears so soundly that he screamed aloud, while the made finished plucking the foul. 

***

Helen sighed. Thus far, the story was normal, something she could understand. But then it changed. The ordinary words, "Then the wedding of the Prince and Briar Rose was celebrated with all splendor, and they lived happily till they died," were crossed out so heavily that they were no longer visible. 

Helen read the words written in her grandmother's neat hand for the thousandth time. "He then bent down and kissed the Princess once more. 'Farewell, Princess,' he told her, 'for I have done what I could. Now I must leave you and the world.' And then the Prince died, leaving the castle to grieve for him." 

Helen sighed. She knew that this was a different ending that her grandmother had created. But what did this change mean? Why had her grandmother written this in? It couldn't be just because her grandmother liked that ending better than the way it originally ended; nor had her grandmother had a habit of changing fairy tales. All the other stories in the book remained the same. Yet this one... 

She was sure that the story of Briar Rose meant something more than it seemed on the surface. She was positive in her heart that it had another meaning to her grandmother. But what was that alternate meaning? 

***

A knock on the door interrupted Helen's reverie. She wearily got up, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't stay too long or pry too much into her business, wondering why she had so abruptly left the funeral. 

She opened the door and found herself facing Miranda Bryce, a friend from high school. "Come in, come in," she told her friend wearily. 

Miranda seated herself on the couch, and Helen sat herself next to her. "I'm so sorry...about your grandmother," Miranda said, after a long pause. 

"Yes..." Helen answered vaguely, "very sad...she was a great person..." she wished she could say something better about her own grandmother, but how could she explain the feelings of guilt, hope, sadness, and importance that were churning inside herself and mixing with one another. 

Looking as though she was reluctant yet determined to say it, Miranda said, "But, well, excuse me for asking, but...why did you do that at the funeral?" 

Helen sighed. Miranda wasn't going to understand this, nobody could unless they had heard Hermione saying it to them. "Listen, there's more important things I need to do for Hermione than to stand at a funeral listening to words I already know. She..." Helen's voice trailed off. "Her last wish..." she seemed to be struggling to find the words. "She wanted me to read Briar Rose, so that I could understand something she never told me." Helen's voice struggled as if it didn't want to say it, but she spoke the words nonetheless. 

Miranda sighed. She had known Helen's grandmother, and knew that Hermione was fond of riddles and metaphors that were difficult to solve. She also knew that Helen was always determined to figure them out. But why had Hermione had to use this as her last wish? Speaking slowly, trying to find the right words to explain what she felt to helen, Miranda said, "Helen...I know this is very important to you. But you can't spend forever trying to understand a riddle. If it was terribly important, I'm sure Hermione would have told you." 

Helen looked into Miranda's eyes and saw an entreaty in them. She knew that Miranda was being earnest and that she really did believe she was acting for the best. She put her head in her hands. How to explain such a thing to someone who can't understand it? Finally, Helen said, "Listen, Miranda, I know what you're thinking. But I think that, well, maybe Hermione couldn't say it. Maybe it was too painful for her to tell me. But I know she wants me to know it, even though she can't tell me." 

Miranda looked at Helen and knew that there was no dissuading her. When Helen had decided to do something, there was no stopping her. "Helen," Miranda told her, "I guess I'll have to trust you. But please, don't let your life be eaten up by your quest." 

Helen simply smiled, and continued on with her journey towards the truth.


	2. Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty): Part II

A.N.: I got good reviews for Part I, so here's Part II. You may think it is pointless, but it really is an important part of the story. Please read and review, even if you already reviewed Part I. 

Disclaimer: Briar Rose (the story and the person), at least in the words I tell it in, belongs to the Grimm Brothers, I think, and whoever published the stories. The story itself is a German folk tale, so it doesn't belong to anyone. The book "Briar Rose, " by Jane Yolen, belongs to Yolen and her publisher. Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Ron Weasley, Dumbledore, and Voldemort belong to J.K. Rowling. Helen Granger, Miranda Bryce, and Robert Johnson all belong to me. 

Helen walked down the gravel path on to the sidewalk. It had been several days, yet she was no closer to solving the riddle than she had been when Hermione had died. She rubbed her temples in frustration. What could it all mean? 

She looked down at the ground, almost in shame. She felt as though she should be doing something. She hadnÕt made any attempts to figure anything out since she had read the story, and felt bad about it. 

But really, what was there to do? She had already been up to the attic several times before Hermione's death, and there was nothing there from Hermione's childhood, nothing that could possibly help Helen. There was nothing she could do to solve it, yet she felt that doing something as unproductive as strolling down the sidewalk was wrong. 

A voice interrupted her thoughts. "They are saying that Hermione Granger is dead. Is it true? Do you know if it is?" 

Helen looked up, startled, to find a very old man who must have been about the same age as Hermione, but who still had traces of red in his hair. He was dressed strangely, in a flowing black cloak. "Yes, she did, " Helen told the stranger. Suddenly a thought crossed her mind. "You didn't know her, did you?" 

"Of course I did, we were best friends at school, " the man answered, with a kind of happy smile only present when one is reminiscing on sweet memories. "The times we shared..." 

Feeling foolish, stupid, yet feeling at the same time that it was important to ask, Helen said to the man, "Well...do you understand her, um, fascination with the story Briar Rose?" 

The cryptic answer Helen received was, "It happened at Hogwarts." And then, before Helen could ask more, he disappeared with a swish of his cloak. 

***

Helen opened the door to her house. "Martin?" she called out, hoping he was there. 

There was no reply. Helen sighed. Couldn't he at least come home early or on time from work right after his grandmother-in-law died? He was never there for her, always at work, and it sometimes made her feel as though he cared more for his work than for her. 

She picked up the phone and dialed a number. After a brief pause, she heard a voice on the other line, "Domi Real Estate, Martin Johnson speaking, how may I help you?" 

Helen sighed with relief, glad that she had gotten her husband on the line and not some stranger. "Listen, it's Helen," she began. 

"Oh, hello, Helen, I hope you're doing well. I'll try to be back in a couple of hours, " Martin answered on the other end. 

"That's what I called to talk about. I really need you to come back now and help me work this out," Helen's voice was weary but determined. 

Helen heard a sigh on the other end of the line. "Helen, dear, there's important company business, I can't leave now," Martin answered, "Look, give that riddle a rest, okay? Stop thinking about it, just forget about it for a while." 

"But Martin," Helen's said, exasperation clear in her voice, "I need to do it for Hermione. Please come home, do it for Hermione, please." 

Martin abruptly said, "Look, I've got company business to do. I need to leave now. I'll see you in a few hours." Helen heard the click of Martin putting down the receiver. 

Helen sighed. She should have known something like that would have happened. Martin did care more about work than family, she thought to herself. He always places work before me. She bitterly put down the receiver. 

***

After a moment, Helen picked the receiver back up again. Her hands hesitated on the buttons, wondering if she should do this. Finally, she dialed Miranda's number. 

"Hello, this is Miranda speaking, may I ask who's calling?" Helen was glad to here her best friend's voice. 

"Hello, Miranda. It's Helen. Listen, could you come to my house for a little while? There's something I need to talk to you about," Helen was anxious, wondering if Miranda would also come up with some excuse. 

"Of course I can come talk to you," Miranda answered, "What do you need to talk about? It isn't about that Briar Rose thing, is it?" 

"Well, yes, it is," Helen admitted, not wanting to lie to her best friend, especially knowing that soon she would have to reveal the truth anyway. 

"I know that there's nothing I can say to dissuade you," Miranda said, and Helen knew that she thought that she was acting for the best, "But allow me to say this one more time: Don't let your life be taken over by this mission." 

"Look, Miranda, just come now, okay?" there was a note of irritation in her voice. 

"Of course I will. I'll see you in a few minutes." Helen heard Miranda putting down the phone and sighed. At least there was one person who would listen and try to help. 

***

Helen heard a rap on the door. Knowing it was Miranda, she shouted, "Come in, the door's already unlocked." Miranda walked in and sat in a chair next to Helen. 

"So, what did you want to tell me about?" Miranda asked, waiting for Helen to tell her story. Helen smiled inwardly, remembering that Miranda had always been the a great listener. 

"Well," Helen said, wondering where to begin, "I was walking just a few minutes ago, and this man stopped me. He said that he had heard that Hermione Granger had died, and wanted to know if I knew if it was true." Helen paused 

"Continue," Miranda said quietly. 

"And I told him that yes, she had died. Then, this thought crossed my mind, and I asked him if he knew anything about Hermione's fascination with the story of Briar Rose," Helen continued. 

"And what did he say?" Miranda asked, somewhat curiously. 

"All he would tell me was that 'it happened at Hogwarts,'" Helen answered, "And, now, this is the really strange part. I was about to ask him more, but he just swished his cloak -- he was dressed really strangely, in this black cloak -- and then he just disappeared! He wasn't anywhere in sight!" 

Miranda looked at Helen. "Are you...are you sure about this? Because, I mean, disappearing, well, that's like magic and magic doesn't exist!" She sounded utterly bewildered. 

"I'm entirely positive that that happened," Helen said, "It's so strange, isn't it." After a moment, she said, "You do believe me, don't you?" 

"Of course I believe you, Helen," Miranda answered, but Helen could tell that there was a part of Miranda that didn't believe her, couldn't believe her, and this part of Miranda was creating a tense atmosphere. Suddenly, Miranda said, "Look, let's just go up to the attic. Maybe we'll find some stuff there about Hermione." 

Helen was pretty sure there would be nothing there, but was glad to get away from the tense feeling in the living room. They walked quickly over to the ladder. 

Helen climbed up it, and the rungs of the latter creaked ominously. Looking down and seeing that Miranda was about to climb up, she called down, "You'd better wait for me to get up first, Miranda. Both of us on it might break it." Miranda nodded to show that she understood. 

When Helen was safely up, Miranda began to ascend the ladder. Somewhere in the middle, one of the rungs broke. Helen was in a state of sudden panic, wringing her hands together. She didn't want to look down, because she was terrified of what she might see -- it wasn't a small drop, and the floor was hard. 

"Oh, I wish she could stay up there and not fall, I wish she could stay in midair," Helen thought, even though she knew the idea was ridiculous 

A call of, "Oh my gosh, Helen, you've got to see what's happened!" forced Helen to look at the sight. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't what she had seen: Miranda was, indeed, standing in midair. Both of them were in a state of utter shock, wondering how Helen or Miranda had caused such a thing to happen. 

Shakily, Miranda climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, relatively safely. Once they were back in the attack, Helen said, "Well...I guess we should be looking at this stuff." 

"Ok," said Miranda, still not quite recovered from the near-fall and the strange thing that had saved her. They rummaged through cardboard boxes, seeing the usual: Hermione's college graduation diploma; Hermione's important document;, old play things that had belonged to Helen's mother; basically everything except for things from Hermione's childhood. 

After a few minutes of fruitless searching, Miranda said, with a note of amusement in her voice, "Helen, look at this!" 

Helen walked over to see what Miranda was holding. It was a tiny trunk, miniature, like a child's toy. Yet it was so intricately made, it seemed almost as if it were real. "Wow," Helen said, impressed, "That must have been really hard to make!" 

"And look at this," Miranda continued, "You can open it." She unlatched it and opened it, to reveal papers, books, quills, and ink bottles, all as intricately made as the trunk was. The quills looked like they could really write; the ink bottles seemed to be really full of ink; there was something that looked remarkably like writing on the paper; and the books really opened! 

"That's amazing, " Helen breathed. She couldn't explain her excitement over the trunk; it wasn't just the intricacy and beauty of it, but something strange about it that she couldn't describe to anyone. "Can I keep it?" 

"Of course you can, " Miranda said, "I have no use for it. Though I don't see what you want with a toy trunk." 

"I just...want to keep it," was the best answer Helen could give. 

***

Helen sighed. She had been out of the attic for an hour by now, and Miranda was gone, but she couldn't seem to take her mind away from the trunk. 

It was so well made, and Hermione had trouble believing that anyone would make a child's toy so intricately. And why would they put all those papers in it? All those books, the papers, the writing things. Besides, what would a child want with a toy trunk, anyway? 

Her first thought would have been to put in a doll's house. But there was nothing else that would go in a doll's house, and no other toys that were so intricately made. So what could the point of that trunk be? 

Wonderings mulled around in her head, fruitlessly. She held the trunk for a while, as though touching it would help her figure it out. she sighed and put it back on the floor of the room. "This is useless," she told herself, "This trunk probably is of absolutely no importance." However, though she told this to herself, the thought that it bore some importance continued to lurk in the back of Helen's mind. 

After a while, she was called back to earth by her husband's calling, "Helen, I'm home!" 

"All right, honey, I'm coming, " Helen sighed. She was in absolutely no mood to talk to him right now. 

She sleepily got up. She began to leave for the living room. However, then a strange sight met her eye. She must be imagining things. This couldn't be happening. Yet it was: Helen saw that the trunk was slowly growing larger and larger, becoming the size of a real trunk. 

A.N.: Well, please read and review! I hope you like it. I know you might have thought that this was a really boring part, but I needed this section to help with the story. Thanks for reading, and please review!


	3. Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty): Part III

A.N.: Here's Part III of Briar Rose. Read and review if you've read Part I and Part II. Hermione figures out a lot in this section. It opens right after the trunk has finished growing. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, Hogwarts: A History, A History of Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Hermione Granger, Voldemort, Cedric Diggory, Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, the Triwizard Tournament, and Lumos. The written story of Briar Rose is owned by the Grimm Brothers and their publishers, but the actual story is a German folk tale and is therefore owned by no one. I own Helen Granger, Martin Johnson, House-Elves In History, Extremely Advanced Transfiguration, The Fifth Edition of the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts (J.K. Rowling owns the book, though, I just own the edition) Miranda Bryce, and Domi Real Estate. I guess that's about all! 

Helen looked in amazement at the trunk, which had grown to be full sized. "What...what happened?" she said, to no one at all. She fingered the trunk, her fingers climbing over the ridges and feeling the dips in the carved wood. 

Hands trembling, almost afraid of what would be found inside the trunk, she fingered the trunk and opened it. Inside were the same contents as she had seen in the miniature version, only they were also large. Helen looked down at the books: Hogwarts: A History; House-Elves in History; A History of Magic; Extremely Advanced Transfiguration; Six-Hundred-Sixty Simple Spells; The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts (Fifth Edition); the list went on and on. There were quills, inkwells, parchment, and a strange stick as well. 

Helen looked at all of them in wonderment. What could all of this mean? She weakly remembered the mans disappearance, Miranda hovering in the air, and the enlargement of the trunk. All of this seemed so like magic -- and these books seemed to hint at magic, too. 

"What am I thinking?" Helen asked herself silently. "Am I thinking that Hermione could do magic?" Her logical brain told her that magic was impossible, against the rules of the universe. Yet in her heart, she remembered the words that frequently had been spoken by Helen in her speak: magic; wizard; witch; charms; spells; wands...And though on the outside Hermione told herself that it was impossible, that thing inside her continued to ask if it might be true. 

On sudden impulse, she grabbed The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Flipping through the pages, she saw an extraordinary sight: the pictures were moving! She stared in fascination at the photographs: a flash of green light emanating from some stick in a person's hand; two people, each waving a stick around and looking hatefully at one another; and towards the very end, a boy with black hair and a man with eerie eyes, their sticks connected by a strange ray of light. 

Something about that picture haunted Helen, though she didn't know what it was. She wondered how this book could do this; had they merely planted computer chips in it, or could it be magic? Again, her logical mind and her heart told her two different, two opposite answers. So which was right? 

Her reverie was interrupted by her husband's voice, calling to her: "Helen, please, I've been waiting for five minutes!" 

***

"Don't you care about anything else?" The two arguing voices spoke the same words. Helen's eyes glared at her husband, and Martin's glared back, just as angrily as her. 

"All you think about is your work," Hermione said, determined to speak before Martin could, "You just think, well, if it's going to bar my way from money, better skip it. There's company business, so I can't come home to see Helen. Then I tell you about Hermione, and what do you say? 'That's nice, dear, but really, magic? Don't speak nonsense. I'm sure Hermione meant something much less exciting and fascinating. Now, would you like to here about my work?'" 

Helen imitated the disinterest and skepticism that she had heard so blatantly and glared at Martin. He didn't care about Hermione, all he cared about was telling her what kind of brilliant real estate deal he had made that day, or what compliment his boss had offered. 

"But Helen, think, you're saying that it might be magic," said Martin, and a note of disdain was now in his voice, thinking apparently that he was above discussing this sort of topic. "Just think. You know magic never would work. You know that it's probably something that hardly even matters. Just drop the whole Hermione thing, it's eating away at your brain!" 

"I'm as sane as I've every been, "Helen said, struggling to keep her voice from rising, hot fury burning within him. "I just said, we need to open our minds and think that maybe there's something in the world, and something about Hermione, something somewhere that we haven't discovered!" 

As though speaking to a small child, Martin said slowly, "Listen, Helen. You know that whatever Hermione was talking about, whatever she wishes you to discover, can't be terribly important, because if it was she'd have told you. Now drop it, just drop it!" 

Helen's hands balled themselves into fists, and she seemed ready to explode. "Don't you dare talk about Hermione's last wish to me like that! It mattered, and you know it! I'm not going to drop it! You're just jealous because I'm not giving you every ounce of attention and love, and that I'm putting some of it into Hermione, and afraid that I'm giving her more love than I gave you!" 

Though he knew in his heart the words were true, that he was feeling jealous of Hermione, Martin's pride didn't let him admit it. Instead, he shouted, "You know that's not true! Shut up!" 

Helen growled, all her temper lost, "You don't care at all about her, do you? You just want to make your money, and have love and attention. You don't care about anyone at all! You don't deserve to stay here!" 

"Fine, I'll leave!" Martin screamed. He slammed the door, and Helen looked at his figure as it receded into the distance. And as she watched him leave, she felt the smallest amount of sorrow, and wondered why she had done what she had done. 

***

Helen looked at the book blankly. A day had passed, and Martin hadn't come back. Helen wondered to herself, "Why did I do that? Couldn't I have kept my temper, and just talked it out." She knew inside that she really did miss him, that despite there differences, despite their quarrels, despite how she felt sometimes, she really did love him in her heart, and she was missing him. 

She sighed and began to read The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. No use thinking of Martin, he was gone forever. She had to at least do what Hermione wished her to do, even if she was miserable. 

She was astounded as the story of Voldemort began to form. She learned of Harry Potter, that boy that Hermione so frequently had spoken of in her sleep. And yet -- where was the rest of the story? Where was Hermione? 

Helen sighed and put down the book, as she read the last paragraph of the last chapter: "There is a story of something which is supposed to have happened during the fifth year of Harry Potter (see Unverified Stories section of Prologue). It is believed by some that recently, during the Triwizard Tournament, Harry fought Voldemort once again. Those who follow this belief are convinced that this was the cause of death of Cedric Diggory. However, most leading wizards, including current Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, are against this, and it is highly doubtful." 

She sighed. It was all so confusing, so hard to put together. She knew it meant something, but what? Hermione must have known Harry somewhere, or at least who he was, but what did he have to do with Briar Rose? 

Helen fingered the book. Magic, Voldemort, Harry Potter -- so much information. She tried to show confidence, because she knew it was important -- no, necessary -- to her mission, yet deep inside herself, she too wondered: how could this all be true? How could there be magic? 

She reminded herself of everything she had seen. Of the confidence with which she had told Martin that it was possible. Yet there was another voice, asking her, "How is that possible?" That other voice, reminding her that it went against the laws of the universe she knew and believed. 

Helen sighed and put her head in her hands. What did it all mean? Was it all true? Which side of her was right, the rational side of her or the irrational side? Could this other world actually exist? Or was it all a cruel game, a trick, something she was foolish to believe? She merely wondered. 

***

Helen sleepily awoke in the darkness and looked at her luminous alarm clock. 1:30 a.m. She sighed, unable to fall back asleep again, for the question continued to torment her, the cause of her insomnia, the cause of her worries: did such a thing as magic exist? 

Helen walked over to the trunk. She was sick of all the wondering. She wanted to find out, now. As she opened it and looked inside, a sudden realization struck her. It would be easy to find out. Simple. All she had to do is take a simple spell from Six-Hundred-Sixty Simple Spells, take the stick (she still regarded the wand as "the stick") and do what the book said. 

She felt half-excited, half-anxious as she took the wand into her trembling right hand and the book into her left. She opened the book up to the first page: A Lighting Charm. 

"This charm is used to make a light emanate from the end of one's wand. Simply mutter Lumos, and the light should appear on the end of the wand. It is possible the simplest charm," Helen read from the book. The book was still a bit mind boggling to her; hearing wands and spells spoken about in a thing presumed to be a textbook seemed odd, quite frankly, compared to the usual talk of wars, or frog intestines, or grammatical structure. 

Determined to find out, Helen held the wand tightly and said, softly but firmly, "Lumos." The wand lighted. 

Helen tried out a few more spells. They, too, worked. Now she was sure: magic was real. Now she could continue her seek for the story of Hermione. 

A.N.2. Please Review, even if you already reviewed Parts I and II. I'd be much more motivated to finish the series before Thursday (when I go on vacation) if you did! Thanks in advance!


	4. Briar Rose (Sleeping Beatuy): Part IV

A.N.: Here's Part IV. This leads up to the next part, which is going to be pretty much the climax of the story. Then theirs just one more part, which is the conclusion. I hope you enjoy this part, though it isn't terribly exciting. Please read and REVIEW!!!! 

Disclaimer: The Grimm brothers own the written story of Briar Rose, but as for the plot itself, no one owns it, because it is an old German folk tale. J.K. Rowling owns Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Voldemort, Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Slytherin, Ron Weasley, the Dark Lord, Fudge, Gryffindor, Potions class, Mr. and Mrs. Granger (Hermione's parents), muggles, the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore, Mudblood, Portkeys the Daily Prophet, and the bronze coin (it's a Knut). I own Helen Granger, Martin Johnson, Miranda Bryce, the underground newspaper, Todd Miller, the last diary entry, Hermione's diaries, Rhea Bryce, and Helen's clock. Hans Christian Andersen and his stories belong to him. Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle belongs to the author and his/her publishers. 

Helen picked up the old book, and words written in different colors of ink danced before her eyes. She wondered what it was; surely no ordinary book, for it had clearly been written by hand. She cautiously turned back to the first page, and began to read: 

_Dear Diary, _

Today I went to platform nine and three-quarters. I can't believe that I'm a witch! I am writing this on the train to Hogwarts. I have met Harry Potter; it was quite disappointing, I would have thought he would have better manners, but apparently not... 

Helen read the book, marveling at the detail with which Hermione described everything, the accuracy with which she told the day's events. They were earnestly written, clearly the words of a young girl. Everything suddenly became more clear; Hermione's friendship with Harry and Ron, their adventures, their involvement with Voldemort... 

She turned the last page, reading of Hermione's journey back. The book ended, leaving her bewildered; this only told of Hermione's first year, what about the other six? As Helen looked into the trunk, the answer grew clear: she had written a diary for each year...until her fifth year. 

Helen didn't understand this, for she knew by now that Hogwarts went on for seven years. She couldn't work it out in her head, so she decided to just try to sort it out as she went along, and so Helen continued to read the diaries. She found herself laughing and crying with Hermione, feeling her grandmother's pains and pleasures. 

Helen put down the diary of Hermione's fourth year with an eerie feeling. Voldemort...back. What would this mean for Hermione's fifth year? Helen didn't know, but she was sure it couldn't be good... 

***

_Dear Diary,_ (Helen read) 

_The journey to Hogwarts was terrible. Draco Malfoy was more unbearable than ever; it's only to be expected, I suppose, what with the Dark Lord back. It's so frightening; I've heard rumors that he wants to kill me, though of course their only rumors, yet don't all rumors have a basis in fact? _

We're all in something of a panic; well, besides Draco and a few others, that is. Fudge is still trying to hush it up, but most of us are quite sure; it's very obvious, isn't it? Already I've learned that the dementors have left Azkaban, no doubt to join Voldemort, and Fudge hasn't been taking any action towards the giants; he still lets his pride bar the way. Dumbledore can try, but he can only do so much. 

There's no word of all this in the Daily Prophet, certainly because of Fudge. Times are getting bad; there's no longer freedom of the press, and though it may seem minor compared to our other worries, I feel that it's a warning sign; when both sides are doing wrong, things are getting very bad. There's an underground newspaper which brings us the real news; but I've heard Fudge is coming down upon them, too. 

We have a transfer student from Australia today. His name was Todd Miller. The sorting hat seemed to have trouble with him, but he was placed in Gryffindor. I don't like him; he acts nice, but there's something strange about him. Harry agrees; we've decided to try to keep our distance from him. 

Well, I suppose I ought to go to sleep now. Classes begin tomorrow, and I shouldn't like to be late for any! We have double Potions with the Slytherins tomorrow, and it will be most unpleasant; I needn't make it more so by being late or tired. 

Helen read this with fascination. As the years went by, she noticed, Hermione's diary entries became more and more detailed, she wrote more and more. She continued to read with interest about Hermione's classes, and other things. This diary was somehow different than the other four; the pages were now dotted with things about disappearances, and even killings; though none at Hogwarts. 

Then she read that of February 14, and she drew a sharp intake of breath. Many letters were blotched, as if by water, and it was written in a shaking hand: 

_Dear Diary, _

Harry told me the most awful thing today. I hesitate to write it, and know not the words with which to tell it. My parents have died. The muggle police don't understand it, for there seems nothing wrong with the bodies other than a look of utter shock, but I know what happened: it was Lord Voldemort's doing. 

That is not all. There were a group of muggle witnesses (they had their memories cleared afterwards, of course). They told Ministry wizards that he said, "Now there are only two in my way whom I must kill: the Mudblood, the Bumblebee, and Potter." It was written in the underground newspaper, for one of those the Muggles told was the editor of the newspaper. 

Of course, we can't be sure about any except for Potter, but I think I understand what the two other names mean. Everyone knows I'm muggle-born, and, well, there's only one person with a name that means bumblebee. 

Helen shuddered as she finished reading it. She didn't know who "the Bumblebee" was, but it surely meant no good. And Hermione...Voldemort had wanted Hermione. What had he done to her, then, since he couldn't have killed her? Did he rob her of her powers? Did he injure her? What? Helen continued reading, unable to speculate any longer. 

The next, and last, large shock came on the entry dated May 16. The diary abruptly ended there; nothing came after it. And even the entry itself made no sense, it was in a strange language which Helen could not understand. It read: _Ecal psih tevae lisih trof; elbir reto otsawg niref foseld dir tubst figy nam nevig sa wi._

Helen looked at it in wonderment. She had minored in linguistics at Oxford, and this looked like no language she had ever seen. She wondered if it could be some special language for witches and wizards; but if it was, why was only this last entry written in it? She sighed, unable to comprehend its meaning. 

***

Helen picked up the receiver wearily. She was in no mood to talk to anyone; it had been a day since she had read the diaries, she was no closer to figuring out that last entry than she had been, and she was not in a good mood. 

"Hello?" she said, trying to tame her voice, with only mild success. 

"Hello, this is Miranda," Helen heard her best friend's voice with some relief. At least it wasn't Martin; she didn't think she could have faced him at this time. Miranda's voice continued, "Both my husband and I have an appointment; I was wondering if you could take care of Rhea for tonight? I'll pick her up at seven." Rhea was Miranda's seven year old daughter. 

"Of course I can, Miranda, " Helen said. She loved little Rhea; Rhea had a sweet chirping voice and was always happy. 

"Thanks so much, " Miranda said gratefully. "I'll bring her over right at about 8:30. Make sure to put her to bed right at nine, that's her bed time." The two women put down the receivers. 

***

"Rhea, it's your bedtime now, " Helen said sternly. 

"Oh, but please Aunt Helen, " Helen smiled; Rhea always called her aunt Helen even though they weren't related. "Please, let me stay up just a little longer. I'll be good, I promise." 

"No, Rhea, " said Helen, kindly but sternly. "But how about this, I'll read you a story." 

Rhea seemed to perk up at this. "Well, all right, " she said, "But can I choose?" 

"Of course you can, " Helen said kindly, "I have some nice books here, look at Hans Christian Andersen, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle..." Helen read the titles of an array of books. "So which would you like, little Rhea?" 

"I want you to read...that one!" she pointed to an old book on Helen's bed. To her, it looked far more interesting than the others; it's cover was faded, while all the others were bright and cheery, just like every other book. 

Helen looked over at the book Rhea was pointing to. She soon realized that it was Hermione's diary of her fifth year. Helen looked uncomfortably at Rhea, "I don't know...are you sure? It's kind of scary..." 

"Please?" Rhea's eyes looked sweetly into Helen. "Pretty please, with a cherry on top?" 

Unable to resist the little girl, Helen said, "Well...okay, but if you ever want me to stop reading, just tell me and I will. " The little girl gave a nod of assent, and so Helen began to read. 

***

"Ecal psih tevae lisih trof; elbir reto otsawg niref foseld dir tubst figy nam nevig sa wi," Helen finished reading the diary, amidst the little girl's giggles. Rhea said, "That...sounded...funny! What language is that, Aunt Helen?" 

"I don't know, my dear, it is very strange, isn't it?" Helen said to the little girl. After looking at Helen for a moment, Rhea said, "Well, now it's time to read it backwards!" 

"Backwards?" Helen looked puzzled. "Why would I do that?" 

"'Cause that's what mummy always does. She reads me the story forwards, and then when she finishes she reads it to me backwards. She says it increases my reading awareness," Rhea said, and Helen knew that Rhea had probably heard this many times before. 

Helen rolled her eyes. Miranda was a dear friend, but sometimes she did the strangest things, like this -- who else would read a story forwards and backwards to make the child better at reading? "Well, all right." She began to read: "Wi sa nevig nam..." 

Rhea looked over at the page and said, "No, no, no! You're doing it all wrong! You have to read the words backwards!" She said this as if it was obvious, something that everyone knew. 

Helen thought to herself, "What is Miranda thinking? That's the craziest idea I've ever heard of," but nonetheless began to read the story backwards "the right way." 

"Iw as given," Helen began. She abruptly stopped, and said aloud, "Given! That's a real word! So is as. But iw..." She looked over at Rhea. "Rhea, dear, I think I've read enough for tonight. I don't have time to read it backwards. Just go to sleep, it's long past nine." 

"But Aunt Helen, you haven't finished reading it backwards to me!" 

"Sweety, that was a long story, and it would take too long to read it backwards, " Helen said, her voice sweet but firm. "Now, you need to go to sleep. Sweet dreams." Helen kissed Rhea softly on the cheek and vacated the room, the diary under her arms. 

***

Helen lay in bed and looked over at her clock. 11:30 P.M. She had been looking at that message for an hour and a half now, and she still didn't understand it. She traced her hand over the words...backwards, they said "Iw as given man ygif tsbut rid dlesof ferin gwasto oter rible; fort hisil eavet hisp lace." She looked at it in puzzlement. 

Suddenly, she saw a part that seemed to stand out: tsbut. Suddenly she realized that if you just took out the ts, you got but. Perhaps...just maybe...she had to break up the words. 

She tried several times, never getting any more sense. With frustration, Helen crossed out her fifth attempt, beginning to wonder if this theory was right. She told herself, "If I can't figure it out this time, I'm going to give up on this stupid theory." 

Carefully, knowing that this was her last chance, Helen wrote a new sentence slowly. It was turning out to make sense...now she began to understand...but would it work out in the end? Trembling, she wrote the last word of the sentence...and it now read: "I was given many gifts, but Riddle's offering was too terrible; for this I leave this place." 

Helen felt almost fearful as things came into view, as she made new realizations. She knew what this place was: Hogwarts, the world of magic. And she had left it...because of something...a riddle, or a person named Riddle. But who, or what, was this? She sighed, and closed her eyes, willing herself to go to sleep until seven, when Miranda came back for her daughter. 

***

Helen sighed and began to put everything back into the trunk neatly. She had looked at everything she'd seen in there, and figured out everything she could from the trunk's contents. As she placed in Hermione's diary of her fifth year on top of the other four, she wondered where to turn next. She was much closer to solving the mystery, but here were still so many things -- like who or what this Riddle was -- that she had yet to figure out. 

She began to close the heavy lid of the trunk. Just as she did so, however, she noticed a little bronze coin in the corner of the trunk, with a small note beside it. Gently, wondering what it could mean, she picked up the previously unnoticed note and read it. 

_Whoever you are,_ (Helen read)_I suppose you have discovered the secrets that this trunk holds, my story. If you have discovered what it holds, and if you believe you are ready, grasp the coin beside this note._

Helen looked at the coin. It seemed silly, unimportant. Like a thing you'd leave to lie there, not bother with. Was it of any importance? was her first question. Ordinarily she'd have readily answered that it didn't. Yet there was a note of urgency she saw in the note. If you are ready...the coin must mean something, she decided. 

The second question she asked herself was if she was ready. Had she discovered everything else the trunk had to offer? Was she prepared to find out more? Was the time right? 

Yes, Helen decided after a moment's pause, she was ready. She could face it. And so she slowly, cautiously, bent down a put the coin in her hand. The cold metal touched her skin, and suddenly she felt as if a hook behind his navel was pulling him forward. She felt herself speeding forward, off of the ground, in a swirl of color and wind; and her hand felt as though it was glued to the coin... 

A.N.2.: A cliffhanger! Well, kind of. Not very exciting, but a cliffhanger nonetheless. Anyway, please review, I would appreciate it a lot!!!


	5. Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty): Part V

A.N.: I've written Part V for all you impatient people out there that can't wait until tomorrow. It opens in the place that the coin took Helen, right after she got there. So let the story begin...well, after the disclaimer... 

Disclaimer: The Grimm brothers and their publishers own the written story of Briar Rose, but the actual plot, characters, settings, etc. belong to no one at all, because it's an old German folk tale. J.K. Rowling owns Hermione Granger, Hogwarts, the Quidditch pitch, the six large hoops, portkeys, the Great Hall, Ron Weasley, Voldemort, Mudblood, Harry Potter, Avada Kedavra, the stupefying spell, the Sorting Hat, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin, Gryffindor, the Confundus spell, and Death Eaters. I own Helen Granger, Qan Chang, Kevin Weasley, The Australian School of the Dark Arts, Todd Miller, the Guest Rooms, Hermione's ending of Briar Rose, and Martin. 

Helen looked around the place in wonderment. She was on a green, grassy field, and there were three large hoops on either side...the stadium rose before her, a place that could fit many people...she was sure she had seen this, but where? She knew it had been a photograph in one of Hermione's books, but which one? 

She sighed. She had managed to get here; she knew that this was where she was supposed to be, but where was it? Why was this her destination? What meaning did it have, what did it have to do with Hermione? She furrowed her eyebrows, trying to concentrate on every picture she'd seen in each book. 

A voice interrupted her reverie. It was somewhat old, but still kind. "If you don't mind me asking, just what are you doing here, and who are you?" A small trace of suspicion was in her voice. 

Looking up at the speaker, she saw that it was a woman. Silvery hair adorned her face, but it seemed more a natural trait than something that had developed with her age. Helen said quietly, "My name is Helen Granger, and I have absolutely no idea why I'm here, except that I touched a coin that was apparently a portkey and it took me here." Helen felt too uncomfortable with this stranger to tell about Hermione. Then she added, a bit louder, "So who are you, and where am I?" 

"You know about portkeys? So you know something about magic...Helen Granger...yes, Hermione, I have heard of her..." the woman's voice trailed off, then suddenly picked up again. "Ah yes, your questions. I am Qan Chang, and you have found your way into the Quidditch pitch. Now come along..." 

Helen suddenly gripped her arm. "You know about Hermione? What do you know of her? This is Hogwarts? Can you tell me about Hermione?" 

Qan laughed a little. "Slow down, slow down! Of course I know about Hermione...why all of us do, quite an interesting tale...but sad, very sad..." Her voice sobered. 

"What is it?" Helen asked, sounding like an eager child. "Tell me, I need to know." 

Qan looked thoughtfully at Helen. "I could tell you," she said quietly, "But I think I'm not the right person. No, I think I know just the right person for you to talk to..." 

***

Qan Chang lead Helen into the great Hall, packed with students eating their dinners. She lead them to a table adorned with an eagle, where a boy who could only be twelve or thirteen was sitting. "Forgive me for asking, but how can this child help me understand Hermione's story?" Helen sounded worried, as though afraid that perhaps it was all a trick. 

"This child," Qan answered, a smile lighting her features, "is the grandson of Ron Weasley. You have heard of Ron Weasley, I suppose?" 

"Ron?" Helen seemed considerably brighter at this news. "So I suppose he will know something?" 

"Well, yes, but actually, what I had in mind was to let you speak to Ron himself," Qan looked at Helen, and was glad to see a look of approval on Helen's face. "Now, Kevin, please send an owl to your Grandpa Ron telling him that Hermione's granddaughter - " 

Qan looked quickly over at Hermione and said, "-she is your grandmother, isn't she?" Hermione nodded. She continued speaking to Kevin, "Tell your grandfather that Hermione's granddaughter is here, and she wants to speak to you, and to meet us in the Great Hall. He should be able to get the owl's letter in about 15 minutes, as he lives so close." She checked her watch. "Breakfast should be over by the time he gets here. 

Kevin looked at Helen. "You're Hermione's granddaughter? He's said a lot about Hermione, you know. She was such a good person, and it was so sad when -" He was cut of by Qan, telling him to leave. "Your grandfather will tell her everything, " she told the young boy. And so he ran off to the owlery, with a piece of parchment in his hand. 

***

Helen heard footsteps entering the Great Hall, and realized that it must be Ron. She nervously looked behind her, wondering what Ron would look like, and what she would see. She was mildly surprised when she found the face slightly familiar: he was the man she had seen who had disappeared. 

He smiled, a kind smile, not judgmental or false. "You must be Helen Granger. I remember Hermione well. She was everything one could wish for -- smart, sweet, kind, beautiful..." his voice trailed off as he remembered Hermione...he had loved her so much...he'd never been able to tell her, and the fights they had had probably made it seem so different...but he had loved Hermione, so much. 

He went on. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the story when I first met you, for I knew you were her relation -- you look so similar and it was rather obvious. But I had only just found out, and I was too overtaken by grief, that I couldn't say goodbye to her, or tell her even once that I loved her..." his voice trailed off, then resumed. "So, I suppose you want to hear her story? Know what happened?" He seemed to become more sad. 

Her voice shaking, afraid of what she might hear yet at the same time eager to hear it, Helen said, "Y-yes. I'd like to know." 

"All right, we shall start on May 16, I believe you know what happened before?" Ron's old eyes looked into Helen's young ones, and Helen nodded. "An awful day. One never would have known it, it didn't have that aura, but it was terrible. The worst of my life. That was the day Voldemort attacked Hogwarts." An uneasy silence followed, and Helen couldn't help thinking, "Voldemort, attack Hogwarts? But...he couldn't have, Hogwarts is safe!" 

"We were all so shocked, of course, that he could have attacked somewhere as safe as Hogwarts..." Ron continued after a moment, as though echoing Helen's thoughts. "But he had. It was at breakfast, and we heard the voice, and though most had never heard it, we all somehow knew who it was." Ron shuddered, remembering the terror they'd all felt...well, most of them... 

"He told us that he had attacked the Bumblebee -- that, of course, would be Dumbledore, as his name means Bumblebee in middle English --," Ron continued, and his speech speed up, as though he was afraid he wouldn't be able to say this, "And that now it was the Mudblood's turn." Helen saw tears in his eyes, and she knew for certain who the Mudblood was. 

"And he...he," Ron's voice quavered, and he seemed to be struggling to find the right words, "He threw the rest of the castle into disarray -- it didn't take him long, being who he was, and the whole castle seemed to be asleep, stupefied. He walked up to Hermione, and he drew his wand. And he'd begun...he'd said 'Avada,' and then..." Ron's voice trailed off as he remembered what happened next. 

Looking Helen in the eye, he said, and she could tell that he was finding it difficult yet was determined to tell, "Just as he was about to finish killing her, Harry Potter -- I suppose Voldemort had missed him -- threw himself in front of Hermione to save her." There was a silence, in which Helen digested this information. Ron thought to himself, "Why couldn't I have done something Why Harry? I just sat there, doing nothing for the person I loved so dearly." He reminded himself that he had been stunned, unable to do anything...yet there was still that piece inside of him that wished he had done something, though he knew he couldn't have. 

"And this saved Hermione, but it killed Harry, " Ron said. It sounded so blunt, he wished he could say something more. "And...somehow, this defeated Voldemort, once and for all, because he was gone -- forever, this time, dead." Ron stopped, but it was clear there was something more. 

Gently, Helen asked, "Is there more?" 

Ron nodded vaguely. "And then, Hermione left...ran, without saying goodbye to anyone. I suppose knowing that Harry was dead, and the destruction Voldemort had caused was just too much for her...she fled the castle, to live as a muggle...and the rest is known better to you than to me." 

Helen wiped her eye with her hand, realizing for the first time Hermione's full story. 

***

Qan Chang's voice interrupted the two people's reveries. "So, I suppose you shall depart? I can find you places to stay in the castle, if you like." 

"I shall..." Helen's voice was hesitant, "But may I ask Ron just two more questions?" 

Before Qan could answer, Ron said, "Of course, Helen, and I will try to answer them as best I can." 

"Well, there's someone named Todd Miller -- Hermione seemed to think there was something odd about him, was there? And what did the word Riddle have to do with all this?" Helen looked at Ron, wondering what the response would be. 

"Todd Miller," Ron said, and an enraged look came upon his face. "He came to Hogwarts from The Australian School of the Dark Arts. Confunded the Sorting Hat so well that it believed him, a complete Slytherin, right for Gryffindor. The [censored] [censored] helped Voldemort get into Hogwarts. The youngest death eater and most faithful, Voldemort called him. If it weren't for him, Voldemort would probably never have managed to do what he did." 

The enraged look remained on his face, and he said, "Oh, you had another question -- riddle. Voldemort was named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Changed his name to Lord Voldemort when he became the Dark Lord, but a few, including Hermione and I, knew that he was originally named Riddle." 

And Helen looked into his eyes, and knew he was telling the absolute truth. She then said, "Well, I suppose our business is done for today. I'll see you tomorrow, I hope." 

And so Qan showed the two to their quarters at Hogwarts, two different guest rooms near Gryffindor tower. 

***

Hermione sat on her floor, piecing it all together, the Grimm Brother's book by her side. Now the last diary entry made complete sense; all the people at Hogwarts, the good fairies, had given her gifts. Voldemort was the bad fairy. 

And Harry...Harry seemed to have taken on duel characters, the last fairy and the Prince. He had softened Voldemort's spell, only softening for he had left Hermione with such a terrible pain. But he had also been the Prince, saving Hermione, keeping her alive. 

She read the words, "a deep sleep which spread over the whole castle," and knew that the castle Hermione had thought of was Hogwarts castle..all in it were stupefied. And, indeed, she supposed, all there had reawaken, and they had resumed their activities. 

And then Helen read the last words, which were written in her grandmother's handwriting: "He then bent down and kissed the Princess once more. 'Farewell, Princess,' he told her, 'for I have done what I could. Now I must leave you and the world.' And then the Prince died, leaving the castle to grieve for him." Helen sighed, finally understanding the connotations of this ending. A tear slipped out of her eye, as she realized all that she had learned... 

Yet it was not entirely sad, though it was very much so. For Helen knew that she had done as Hermione wanted. She now understood what Hermione wished her to. And now she could be content, understanding what she had for so long craved to understand. Yes, she knew inside her heart, she was content about everything, well, everything but Martin... 

A.N.: That's the end of Part V. There's only one part after this, which basically concludes everything and ties up the loose ends. Finally there's a lot about Ron! Sorry that Miranda was absent from this part, but there really wasn't any place for her here...she'll be in Part VI, though. If you're wondering why I put Kevin Weasley in Ravenclaw, it's because everyone would put him in Gryffindor, and I wanted to be different. I hope you liked this part, and that you read the last part, which I will write tomorrow. Please review!!!


	6. Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty): Part VI

A.N.: This wraps everything up. It explains anything you don't understand -- like why Helen didn't go to Hogwarts -- and just ties up loose ends in general. I hope you like this part, as it is the last one! 

Disclaimer: The written version of Briar Rose belongs to the Grimm brothers and their publishers, but the plot, characters, settings, etc. belong to no one because it is an old German folk tale. J.K. Rowling owns Hermione Granger, Hogwarts, the quill that writes magic people's names, Draco Malfoy, Squibs, Muggleborns, Muggles, House-elves, the Dark Arts, Malfoy, the idea of what Hogwarts looks like to non-magic people, and Muggle Studies. I own Helen Granger, her windows, her room, her clock, Qan Chang, Hassfurchtmann, the Anti-Magic Charm, Martin Johnson, Miranda Bryce, Alesander Malfoy, the Johnson family, Martin's private tutor, the Department of Muggle Relations, Helen's unborn baby, Todd Miller, and the spell that made Hogwarts visible to Martin . I never made any money off of any of these parts or this entire story, nor am I planning to, so please don't sue me. 

Dedication: This last part is dedicated to all of the reviewers who reviewed Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, and/or Part V and encouraged me to keep on going with my first series fic. Thank you reviewers! You are really cool! 

***

Helen Granger awoke, rays of light streaming through her windows. It took her a moment to remember where she was, but after a moment realization dawned. She checked her clock. 9:30 a.m. She sighed and stretched herself, then left. 

She wandered around the castle for a while, discovering the many wonders. As she looked, she became more and more impressed -- she saw children taking classes, portraits talking to one another, the owls in the owlery, and she even met a house-elf (but, unfortunately for Helen's curious mind, it scurried away hurriedly, ashamed to have been seen). 

However, she still had one unanswered question, and she still felt a bit uneasy because of it. Why hadn't she attended Hogwarts? Why had she got no letter? Was it because Hermione had kept the letters from her? Somehow she doubted it...she had a feeling that Hogwarts would have managed to contact her if Hermione had merely been hiding the letters. 

After a few more minutes of wandering, she saw a figure that relieved her, for she knew that this person might be able to explain it. "Qan!" she called. "Qan, there's something I need to talk to you about!" 

Qan Chang turned around to look at Helen, and there was a trace of something, not fear, but nervousness, in her eyes. "Oh, it's you, Helen," she said, and she seemed to be more relaxed. "For a minute I thought...but never mind..." 

"No, what?" Helen asked curiously, wondering what could make Qan, who usually seemed so composed, nervous. "What is it?" 

Qan sighed. "Well, if you must know, we've heard that there's a dark wizard -- Hassfurchtmann rising, and that he's gaining supporters...waiting for the time to be right...to begin to attack..." she shuddered. "I was worried for a moment...but never mind, continue, please." 

"Well, all right," Helen said, but her tone was graver, more worried now. "I was wondering, well, why didn't I get a letter for Hogwarts?" 

Qan sighed. "Well that...it's an interesting story. Hermione put a charm -- an Anti-Magic charm -- on you, to prevent your magic from being visible to anyone. It doesn't mean you don't have magic, but no one and nothing can see it unless you choose to show them. That includes the quill that writes down the names of those who show magical ability. (_Note: J.K. created this quill -- it's mentioned in an interview._) 

"Well, I, being the Hogwarts headmistress, learned of this. This spell can be taken off, but only by very, very dark magic that neither I nor anyone would use. The only way it can be removed without this dark magic is by the person who put it on, or someone he or she entrusts by magic to break it." 

There was an uncomfortable silence. "All right, I understand, " Helen said at last, for lack of a better response. Then she added, "There's -- something I have to do." She wasn't comfortable telling Qan what it was, not just yet anyway. "May I please leave Hogwarts for a while -- I'll try to return, but I need to take care of some outside business." 

Qan's gaze pierced Helen, and she said, "If you must, you may leave, but we hope that you can return soon." And with that, Helen left Hogwarts. 

***

As she stood outside Hogwarts, she looked at the big castle longingly. She knew that she had to go and find Martin, that she wouldn't forgive herself until she did. She knew how important it was...yet there was another part of her of her wanting to remain at Hogwarts. She'd only been there for less than one day, and she already loved the place. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of two shadows of approaching figures on the ground. Nervously, she spun around, wondering who they were. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't the sight that met her eyes: there were Miranda and Martin, standing in front of the Hogwarts castle, not looking at her but at the castle. 

She heard Miranda's voice, "Honestly, Martin, I know we need to find her, but why would she be at this -- this ruin? 

"I know it appears a ruin to you and I, " Martin was replying, "But it is more than what we see." 

"More than what we see?" Miranda sounded bewildered. "Martin, you've always been a sensible man what's this about --" 

Helen cut Miranda off. "Miranda, he's right. You, two muggles, are seeing a ruin, but what I see is a glorious castle, huge and wonderful." 

"Muggles?" Miranda was growing more and more confused. "Please, Helen, explain." 

"There is a world of magic, a world you don't see..." Helen began the story of the magical world, and of Hermione. 

***

"And that's the end," Helen finished her tale. 

"Wow...this is all true? I mean, are you sure?" Miranda's voice was awed, and a bit skeptical. 

Before Helen could reply, Martin nodded. "It's all true. I've known about all this since I was a child...since I can remember..." 

Suddenly Helen turned to Martin. "What?" her voice was sharp, but it softened as she realized how important this moment was, and how much she really did love Martin. "You knew...but how?" 

Martin sighed. "It is a long story, and a strange one, too. I was born Alesander Malfoy. An old wizarding family, and an evil one, too. My grandfather was Draco Malfoy -- hated Hermione, Helen. I was raised with everything I could want -- house elves to wait on me hand and foot, a private tutor, all the play things I could wish for...yet I was still discontent, and my family could tell. I didn't like the dark arts that surrounded me, and I grew very uncomfortable when my tutor began to teach me them. 

"The Malfoys already hated me by the time I was eleven. And then that summer, something happened, and it was the last straw for them. See, I didn't get a letter from Hogwarts, or Durmstrang, or anywhere. And there worst suspicions were confirmed: I was a Squib. 

"They were angered -- said this dishonored the Malfoy name, they hated me for it. The Malfoy family has historically been prejudiced against Muggles, muggleborns, and Squibs, and my family was no exception. They were so mad that they put me up for adoption. 

"Soon, a family did adopt me -- the Johnson family, a muggle family. They didn't know anything about magic, and the Malfoys were glad, because to them the Malfoy name would mean nothing, so they wouldn't let slip who my real family was. The family name was not damaged. 

"I grew up, and I was mad. I was angry at the Malfoys for what they'd done to me, angry at Hogwarts for not accepting me, and most of all, angry at magic. So I decided that if I couldn't do magic, then I'd forget it. Pretend it didn't exist. 

"And I did that. When I grew up, I deleted the last trace of my former life with magic: Alesander, my name. I became Martin Johnson, no ties to the Malfoys or magic whatsoever. When I met you and fell in love with you, I married you. It was perfect -- you were raised a muggle-girl. When I found out that Hermione was your grandmother, that only made me more determined to marry you, as an act of defiance to Draco. 

"And you never discovered magic. We lived, and magic was almost completely out of my mind. I never thought of it, never cared about it, never remembered it. That's why when you mentioned it that day, and I found that you were discovering magic, I was so mad. I'd been trying since I was 11 to forget, and now here you were reminding me. So I left. 

"I'm so sorry, Helen. I should never have done that. I should never have tried to forget in the first place. But it was so hard for me..." Martin's voice trailed off as he looked into Helen's eyes imploringly. 

"I understand, Martin, and I love you," Helen said, and they embraced, glad to be back together again. 

***

Helen walked back into Hogwarts happily. Her heart was light, and nothing could worry her, not even the rumors of Hassfurchtmann. She waved merrily to Qan Chang in the hallway, and greeted her, "Hullo, Qan!" 

"Helen!" Qan sounded sincerely glad to see her. "I saw you met those two people outside. Who were they?" 

"My husband and my best friend," Helen answered. 

"Muggles?" Qan asked, and Helen nodded. 

"All right. Oh yes, there was something I wanted to ask you." It seemed that Qan had been waiting for a long time to ask this. 

"What is it, Qan?" Helen asked. 

"Well, this is our Muggle Studies teacher's last year here. She was offered a job in the Department of Muggle Relations," Qan said. "I was wondering -- you don't know enough magic to teach an ordinary class, but..." 

Helen's heart leapt. Was this what she thought it was? 

"Perhaps you could teach the class. You know a lot about muggles, and I'm sure you'd be a great teacher," Qan said, her eyes twinkling. 

Helen beamed. "Oh, Qan, I'd love to!" Then her face fell. "But I can't. My husband wouldn't be able to live with me here, because he's a muggle, and to him, Hogwarts is just a bunch of ruins..." 

Qan laughed as though the matter were trivial. "That's nothing to worry about! With a simple spell, I can make it visible to him!" She smiled, and all her body seemed to smile, not just her lips. 

Helen, scarcely believed her. "Really...I...wonderful...I mean...YES!" Helen's eyes danced. 

Qan beamed. "I'm so glad. Well, I'll see you!" And the two waved goodbye, happiness filling both. 

***

Helen walked outside. "Martin, I've got wonderful news! Two pieces of wonderful news!" she was beaming, smiling, and she seemed to have joy overflowing from her. 

"I have great news, too, Helen. I can see Hogwarts castle, Helen!" Martin smiled and Helen smiled back. 

"I already know that, Martin, Qan put a spell so that you could see it. Because next year, I'm going to be teaching Muggle Studies!" Helen looked at him. He looked back, mostly happy, but there seemed a hint of sadness in him, too. "What's wrong, Martin?" 

"Well...it's still hard for me to accept magic...after so many years. But don't worry, honey, I'll get used to me. It will be good for me. I need it," he reassured her, knowing inside his heart that it was true. 

"Well...all right. I hope I'm not making life too hard on you, Martin, " Helen said, a look of genuine concern on her face. 

"Don't worry, Helen, I'll be all right," Martin said. "Really, " he added, because she didn't look convinced. "Please, Helen, don't worry. Now what's the other news." 

At the words "the other news," Helen beamed. "Well, Martin, I'm pregnant!" She looked completely happy, and Martin knew that she was, because they had been wishing for this for years. 

"Oh, Helen, I'm so glad," and they embraced, an embrace of complete happiness and love. 

Amidst her tears of happiness, Helen said, "If it's a girl, we'll name her Hermione. And if it's a boy --" 

"We'll name him Harry, " Martin finished for her. And as their eyes met in a look of mutual understanding, Helen knew that she could at last end this story with the words, "and they lived happily till they died." 

**Finis**

A.N.2. And that's the end of my first series fic! I hope all you people enjoyed reading it, and will review this last part. It would mean a lot to me if you did review this part. If you want me to write a sequel where I write about the futures of our characters during the rise of Hassfurchtmann, tell me in your review or e-mail me at ethaw@hermionefans.zzn.com. Bonus points to anyone who can figure out what Hassfurchtmann and/or Todd's names mean and how they relate to their characters. This is probably the last fic I'll post here for about two weeks because tomorrow I'm going on vacation for two weeks. So please review now and tell me what you thought of this fic and if you want a sequel! 


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